


all my life i've been fighting a war

by iskra (kiira)



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: (not laura or carmilla to be clear!!), F/F, death cw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiira/pseuds/iskra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>but oh what a lie, for you were never broken</p>
            </blockquote>





	all my life i've been fighting a war

You have a mechanic recollection (Laura is so innocent; you do not remember how to speak); you want more than anything to run down your laundry list of horror with your eyes shut (you do not remember how to speak).

But Laura is so innocent, she knows nothing of knives or blood or the way love is never pure and she drags out a puppet theater; your story is nothing but that to her: a story. (You lived it and you know how flesh will give under your teeth and you do not remember how to speak.)

//

Some part of you had hoped that the burning pain of the sword would scorch the corruption out of your mind; she buried you beneath the earth and yet you still love her as you hold her dying body.

“No one will love you like I do, chérie,” she gasps and you cry in front of her for the first time in a hundred years.

“I know,” you say, because Maman’s love is a glittering, all-wonderful thing, “I know.”

Her breath rattles around the sword and you kiss her bloody mouth; “I love you,” you mumble and she smiles.

“You are forever mine, chérie – ” and dies.

You wake that night screaming.

//

Laura is so innocent and your tongue is lead in your mouth; she dances puppets and you do not know how to make her understand.

(Sometimes you dream of your death and you can still feel the silk on your skin; those are good dreams; life is not forced under your skin again and again and again and again.)

Your empty heart is devastated and you do not remember how to speak.

( _Stop_ you shout _stop_ but you keep talking and the puppets keep dancing and the world keeps ending.)

//

You wonder if your capacity for love died with your Mother; Laura’s hands are soft on your arms and you do not deserve this softness.

( _No one will love you like I do_ and it hurt more than the burns on your palms; you hate her you love her you hate her; Laura loves you.)

(You know you can love; you know you can love; you know you can love; Laura whispers it into your shoulder blades and you know concretely that Maman can still hurt you even as her ashes smolder.)

(You thought her death would fix you but oh, what a lie, for you were never broken.)

//

There is a heavy, horrible pressure in the air and Laura is so innocent and the puppets are still dancing; Laura thinks that your story ends in a happily ever after and you know it ends in broken necks and somehow you keep talking and you do not remember how to speak.

The words fall out of your mouth and you watch as Laura breaks and you do not remember how to speak; you do not remember how to move; you do not remember that this is how your world ended.

Laura was so innocent; you remember how words can shatter.

//

Perry dresses the wounds on your hands (Laura found you in Maman’s office and carried you back; “Don’t die,” she whispered into your hair, “I’m so sorry, please don’t die,” and you laugh into her collarbone because does it _matter_?) and LaFontaine watches with worry in their eyes.

“She should be all right,” they whisper to Laura. “I think that whole ‘the sword will consume’ thing was a bit of overkill,” and Laura looks like she could cry.

Perry and LaFontaine leave, shutting the door quietly and Laura sits next to you, looking at her hands.

“I… I’m sorry Carmilla. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and you can’t look her in the eyes. She moves a little closer and you bite your lip, fiddling with the bandages on your palms.

“I watched the video again,” she whispered, and that’s all you need. You have seen so much, you have _done_ so much and somehow it’s over, it’s over, it’s over and Laura’s hands are warm and solid on your back as you sob.

And you know, you’re certain, that it does. Matter.

//

Sometimes you forget how to speak and Laura is soft because she knows now; sometimes you cannot remember the motions of normality and there is a crumbling inside you (Laura know now, she knows, she knows, she knows).

You have scars on your palms from the consuming Holy of matricide and you wake up screaming because she is dead and sometimes you are dragged down with her; (sometimes she looks at you with dead, dead eyes and reminds you that no one will love you like her); but Laura holds your hands with a love that is steady and (it has been three years).

You can open your mouth and speak; there is a grace in remembrance.


End file.
